Fire, Fire Everywhere
by ProfessorElk
Summary: Of all the pain he had felt in his life, nothing compared to this. He was melting, he was sure.
1. Part I

**Fire, Fire Everywhere**

By ProfessorElk

_Disclaimer_: The NCIS characters mentioned below are not mine and no profit has been made in the writing or posting of this story.

_Summary_: Of all the pain he had felt in his life, nothing compared to this. He was melting, he was sure.

_Spoilers_: Set sometime after Season 2

* * *

**Part I**

Fire, fire everywhere and not a drop to drink.

No, that is not how it goes. His brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to remember. Fire, fire everywhere and not a breath to breathe?

His jumbled thoughts tried to make sense of the intense heat, the fire, surrounding him, flames licking him from the inside out. It was hot, too hot, and he tried to squirm away from the burning pain. The flames roared with a vengeance from inside him, paralyzing his already starved lungs. Sheer white crept into his vision and he panicked. Such an intense light meant more burning, more fire, and more pain. He struggled futilely away from the brightness, but it was much stronger than him. It engulfed him completely, his mouth etched in a small "o" of horror and pain.

The whiteness burned. It was too bright and his eyes stung, no moisture present to soothe them. It scorched his skin, the prickling sensation giving way to a coldness that oddly burned more than the intense heat. It saturated his skin, the pain snaking through his flesh and attacking his bones. White hot sparks shot through them, parts of himself that he could normally never feel coming instantly alive, screaming in terror and pain. He shook and tremored, writhing in agony. Of all the pain he had felt in his life, nothing compared to this.

He tried to breathe through his agony, but his breath hitched before he could inhale deeply. He gasped from the suddenness of a halted breath, which caused the pain to erupt further within him. He was melting, he was sure. He could feel his organs liquefying, bubbling as they boiled away to nothingness. Black began to overcome white, and he welcomed the reprieve. Perhaps the darkness could put out the agonizing and burning flames.

* * *

**_a/n Thank you so very much for taking the time to read Part I of this ficlet! Part II will be posted shortly and will be much longer _****:)**


	2. Part II

**Fire, Fire Everywhere**

By ProfessorElk

_Disclaimer_: The NCIS characters mentioned below are not mine and no profit has been made in the writing or posting of this story.

_Summary_: Of all the pain he had felt in his life, nothing compared to this. He was melting, he was sure.

_Spoilers_: Set sometime after Season 2

* * *

**Part II**

A tingling from within his chest woke him. He could feel the pressure build, it no longer being an itchy nuisance, instead morphing into an uncomfortable pressure deep within him. His chest constricted involuntarily, a natural response to dislodge whatever was trapped. The constriction gave way to a cough, a cough which caused his ribs to ache and which reignited the fire within him. One cough turned into another and he was powerless to stop them. He was burning once more, each constriction of the chest sending shooting pains of burning agony.

It hurt so much and he was powerless to stop his suffering. A lone tear of pain and frustration at his own perceived inadequacy collected at the corner of his eye, though the moisture did not have the opportunity to soothe his aching orb. Instead, it fell prey to the burning heat as well, being boiled away to nothingness.

Blackness began to creep into the corners of his eyes once more and he welcomed it. Black meant coolness and anything was better than the intense heat. He was just about to give in completely, let himself fall into the dark abyss, when a sound forcefully pulled him back to the land of fire.

"...ee...Gee...im...im...Tim!"

His eyes jerked open, lucidity instantly accompanying his vision. His world was no longer bathed in black, instead being surrounded by burning hues of red, yellow, and orange. His eyes darted back and forth, apprehension growing as he became aware of his situation. There truly was fire, fire everywhere.

True flames licked and sputtered around him, devouring everything with an audible crackle. Realizing the dire circumstances, he tried to scramble to his feet, only to be abruptly stopped as soon as he attempted to move. His chest burned, pain radiating like shockwaves from a central point in his chest. The jolting pain caused his upper body to constrict instinctually, setting off a bout of coughing. His hand rose to clutch his chest, a futile effort to brace himself against the racking coughs and stave off the accompanying breathlessness.

"Tim!" the voice called out to him once more from the flames. He saw a blurred silhouette dancing behind the orange-red and reached out to it, silently begging for help.

The figure flitted past his line of sight, leaving him staring at his own hand reaching toward the flames.

His hand was red, and for a moment his still slightly muddled rationale told him that his hand was now on fire as well. Oddly, it did not possess the same burning pain as his chest, and he watched in morbid fascination as the red flames collected in mass and fell in small droplets to the floor.

He watched for several moments before his scientific mind began to protest. He allowed himself to listen to the little voice, a voice which held a familiar female Massachusettsian twang of a professor from long ago, reminding him that flames rose in search of oxygen to fuel themselves, not fall and collect on the floor as the red of his hand was now doing.

He was still trying to figure out the conundrum when a voice, distinctly more masculine and free of an accent, overpowered the roar of the flames and the crackling sound it made as it devoured wood and other debris.

"Tim? Tim? Where are you? If you can hear me...call out!"

The name connected to the voice eluded him, but the concern interlaced with the tone spurred him to answer.

"Here," he whispered, the burning in his chest preventing him from calling any louder. The fire blossomed, causing his chest to constrict once more and his body tried to compensate for the lack of oxygen by coughing.

His body shook against the ground with each uncontrollable cough, his head thumping against the concrete floor, arms flailing at his sides. It took a herculean effort, but he managed to draw his arms to himself despite the racking coughs, cradling himself against the onslaught. His throat was constricting as well, and breathable air was becoming dangerously hard to come by. He gasped, his throat making clacking noises as it desperately tried to draw in air.

His attempts were futile, and black and white sparkling dots were rapidly taking over his sight once more, graying his peripheral vision. It was the reprieve he was waiting for, subconsciously knowing that once the darkness came for him, there would be no coming back. Such thoughts usually would have frightened him, but he was oddly at peace. He was going to a place where there were no flames, no boiling pain, and plenty of clean air to breathe. Such prospects did not sound so bad, a fair trade-off, a just price to pay for a worthy reward.

He gasped and sputtered as the once bright and bold yellow fire wall dulled and was muted, a gray-black film covering his lenses. His coughs were weaker than before and he felt himself slipping, a strange sense of lightness beginning in his abdomen and rippling out to his extremities. He closed his eyes, no longer possessing the strength to keep them open and let himself go.

His journey into darkness ended abruptly when he was forcefully turned to his side, his airway clearing enough to awaken his racking cough.

His body convulsed against the hard ground with each cough for several moments before they gradually began to lessen. He was attempting to catch his breath, struggling to draw in enough air to satisfy his starved lungs and quell his rapidly fluttering heart, when he heard the masculine voice again, this time much closer than before, coming from somewhere above him.

"...Gee...im...Tim? Can you stand?"

He blinked his eyes open owlishly, vision meeting the pale gray of a concrete ground.

"Tim!"

He lifted his gaze upward, barely able to see the figure of Tony standing above him. His partner was haloed in a surreal crown of fiery yellow-red, black smoke billowing behind him. The slight change in gaze reawakened his cough, and he gasped and sputtered, something rising up from within him that blocked his airway.

"No, no, no!" he heard when he was done, able to blearily see Tony crouching in front of him.

"Where did he get you, Tim?" his partner harshly asked.

He could only stare at him blankly, a tingling feeling of something running down his chin distracting him. Was he really melting away to nothingness from the inside out?

"Tim!" He was being shaken forcefully.

"Wha?" He felt hands on him, searching for something.

"Damn it." There was a pause. "We need to get you out of here now."

He was hoisted to his feet without warning, the air intensifying in thickness and the difficulty to breathe increasing instantaneously. His lungs shuddered, the force almost bringing him back to the ground except for the strong arms around him, supporting him.

"I'm flattered that you think so highly of me...that you believe I can carry you out of here...but I could really use you using your feet...McGee," Tony rasped, the smoke seeming to affect him as well.

He hazarded a glance at his partner, noting the beads of sweat that clung to the man's forehead and the ragged pants caused by exertion. A light went off within him, bringing instant luminosity and a sense of clarity that he and his friend were inside a burning building. A building filled with smoke and a friend with lungs scarred from a medieval disease, not nearly as eradicated as he once thought.

Drawing from his inner strength, he willed his legs to lock in place as Tony hauled him completely upright once more. They staggered out of the room into a hallway, forced to turn one direction as the other was barricaded by a wall of flames. He stayed silent, willing each leg to move woodenly one at a time, trying hard not to show how much pain he was in, the burning within his chest and the difficulty to breathe strong enough to drive him to his knees. Stopping, though, and allowing that to occur was not an option; it would mean Tony's death as well as his own.

"Knew that guy was crazy," Tony muttered more to himself than to the man he was supporting. "It's not enough...that he completely lost it...waving that gun around...he just had to blow up...the building."

"And you...you just had to run after him," his partner scolded, though some of the bite was detracted due to the strain behind the words. "Haven't I taught you...anything by now? Never go anywhere...without backup."

Tony verbally paused for a moment, the crackling of fire the only audible noise between them, as they continued their journey down the hall.

He tried to reply, but it came out as a cough instead of his intended answer, the twinkling dots of before dancing across his vision once again.

"Don't try to talk." The softening of Tony's voice no longer had anything to do with strain. "Just try...to breathe...and hold on. Contrary...to popular belief...I can't sweep everyone off their feet...so no carrying... the Probster...when he passes out. Getting...a little pudgy there, Timmy."

His mind, although clearer than before, did not have the stamina to come up with a witty retort. Instead, he remained silent as Tony supported him down the hall.

They came to a fork in the path, the hallway diverging into two completely opposite directions. Both the left and right were smoke-filled, the thickness of the orange and yellow tinged gray haze making it near impossible to see down the narrow walkways. The path to the left was slightly clearer, vague shapes visible in the distance. The indecision of his rescuer was evident in the duo's pause in front of the two paths, the smoke billowing from both ends compromising his breathing. Tony seemed to realize his partner's inhalations had grown steadily worse, sharp wheezes with long pauses replacing hitched breaths. Tony made a move for the left, but his own feet refused to move forward.

"Gotta...help me out...here Probie. Thought...we already...had...this discussion before."

Something was niggling at the back of his mind, something important, which prevented him from trying to help Tony support him out of the building.

"McGee? Tim? Come on...man. It's time...to go." Tony pulled them both toward the left hallway, but he refused to move forward.

"Right," he rasped instead, though loud enough for his partner to hear.

"Of course...you're going to be...all right," Tony replied. "You're...with me now...and I'm going to...get us out of here. But we...kinda...need to move first...Probie."

"No," he insisted. The burning in his chest was becoming too much to bear and the darkness was waiting in the wings, ready to engulf him once more. "Go...right."

"More smoke...means...more fire...Tim. We're...going to...the left."

"No," he rasped again, this time around another painful cough. "There's... a... door... that... goes... out... to... the... right."

Tony seemed to consider that for a moment. "You sure?"

He smiled tiredly, able to feel something thick coating his teeth as he did so. "Yeah. Memorized...the... plans... to... the... place... before... we... got... here."

"Of course... you did," was the fond reply. Tony began to move once more, this time turning around so that they were walking down the path to the right.

The smoke was denser along the narrow walkway, the thickness greatly compromising his ability to breathe. He coughed hard, repeatedly gasping and sputtering, unable to draw in a deep enough breath to satisfy his starved lungs. It hurt more than he could ever remember anything hurting, the deprived lungs burning in complaint. His vision was graying and it had nothing to do with the smoke.

His knees betrayed him, his body unable to fulfil all of his desired commands without a breath to breathe and a fiery tightness in his chest subjecting him to horrendous suffering. Tony was unable to catch him as he crumbled, his partner's reflexes dulled due to his own physical impairments heightened by the poor breathing quality. He landed in an undignified heap, unable to enjoy the minutely clearer air brought by his lower position as he body seized viciously with each cough. His chest burned with a roaring vengeance and something was continuously lodged in his throat, the coughs no longer able to dislodge it. The white and black twinkling sparkles returned, overriding the gray lens covering his sight.

He could vaguely hear Tony shouting, the noise too muffled to be able to hear it clearly. The words were indiscernible, warped and muted, but he could not find it within himself to give it much thought. Breathing was his highest priority.

When the blackness finally claimed him, there was nothing he could do to stop it.

* * *

**_a/n: I so greatly appreciate your willingness to read this story, and I am humbled by all who were kind enough and generous enough to leave a review. They are so fun to read and I thoroughly enjoy seeing your thoughts! Part III, the epilogue, will be posted soon._**


	3. Part III

**Fire, Fire Everywhere**

By ProfessorElk

_Disclaimer_: The NCIS characters mentioned below are not mine and no profit has been made in the writing or posting of this story.

_Summary_: Of all the pain he had felt in his life, nothing compared to this. He was melting, he was sure.

_Spoilers_: Set sometime after Season 2

* * *

**Part III**

His chest screaming in agony was the first thing of which he became aware, the organ unable to even expand minutely without causing him pain. He was filled with urgency, a desperate need to breathe and the underlying sense of fleeing, of escaping from danger. He began to futilely squirm, willing his body to move, barely registering the strong yet gentle hands on his shoulders pressing him down, ruining his plans of escape.

His movements slowed, one part due to the burning pain, the other being that he could hear a noise, distorted reverberations that did not make sense to his addled brain. He paused, trying to better hear what was going on around him, when something hard and cold pressed against his face. He started at the sudden contact and tried to move his head away from whatever was attacking him, but the object stayed with him, matching his movements. He began to panic, breath coming in ragged gasps, when he realized that the agony in his chest had lessened and taking deeper breaths was a possibility.

Ragged breaths became soft inhalations, and without his body's desperation, his senses began focusing on other things occurring around him. There was a hand resting upon his head, fingers lightly carding through his hair in a soft repetition. There was no other noise in that moment, no crackling of flames devouring wood and no revoltingly pungent and acrid smell of smoke. He was only distracted for a moment before remembering Tony and their dire situation, and he began to pull away from the gentle hand, which in turn, resumed to firmly hold him in place.

"Settle down, McGee. You're fine," stated a deep voice lowered in cadence as if telling a secret.

He struggled against his leaded lids, brow creasing in intense concentration.

"Easy, Tim," the voice soothed. "Don't rush it."

He revelled in his ability to take a deep, comforting breath with minimal pain, enjoying every inhalation and exhalation without the burning agony he previously knew. However, the need to find Tony took priority over his own comforts, and with fierce determination, he wretched his eyes open, temporarily blinded by the already dimmed light.

His eyes watered, the orbs stinging at the moisture, the little voice of irony reminding him that such occurrences were not possible not so long ago. The rippling visage before took the form of a man's silhouette, and a harsh squint rendered the form into the clam, concerned face of his boss.

They stared at each other silently for several moments, one in confusion, addled brain trying to make sense of his new situation, the other with an aura of patience, waiting for the other to come to a conclusion.

He was about to speak, had subconsciously taken a breath to prepare for the words, when something soft and light feathered across his face. It startled him and he recoiled, his abdomen rippling in instant snaking agony, a dull throb that caused him to involuntarily clench his eyes in pain and release a throaty moan.

"Easy. Hey, easy now, Tim," Gibbs soothed, the man's firm, warm hand anchoring him by the shoulder. "They got you on an oxygen mask. It's just air, McGee."

He could feel the flush of embarrassment creep across his cheeks, eyes opening and crossing to see the domed plastic resting on the bridge of his nose. He raised his gaze to see Gibbs staring down intently, eyes searching for an unknown answer. Coming to some sort of conclusion, Gibbs asked, "You okay now?"

"Yeah," he croaked, voice oddly husky and muffled underneath the plastic mask. It sounded strange to his ears and he glanced up to see if his mentor thought the same. The man before him appeared tired, face more haggard than usual, movements a little too stiff. It was strange and it was uncomfortable to watch, so he shifted his gaze to see what else he could see. Eyes fleetingly looking behind him and to his side, he swept over brightly colored knobs protruding from stainless steel hoses and a white and green checkered privacy curtain, sheer enough to allow light to filter in from a window behind it. Something was still missing, though. Not something, _someone_.

Fearing Gibbs would not be able to hear him, he lifted a shaky hand up to his face and pulled off the oxygen mask before he could be stopped. His chest instantly constricted, inhalations becoming forced and ragged, but he was able to ask, "Tony?"

"The docs have that on for a reason, McGee." His hand was batted away from the mask, and the dome was placed back over his mouth and nose. Gibbs did not answer for a moment, and his eyes widened in realization and fear.

"No!" he rasped, brow crinkling in grief before eyes clenched shut.

He heard a heavy sigh over the torrents of his anguish, the gentle pressure of the mask being held over his face never wavering. "Tony," he murmured sorrowfully.

"What?"

His eyes snapped open at the familiar voice, more gravelly than usual, but blissfully familiar. The privacy curtain that previously had been drawn was now open, revealing the dishevelled form of his partner sitting on the side of the adjacent hospital bed, still dressed in soot covered slacks and a button down shirt.

Gibbs sighed exasperatedly. "The docs have that on for a reason too, DiNozzo," pointing to the oxygen mask that lay unused on the bed.

"Never felt better, Boss. The Probster here is the one with..." a deep, racking cough prevented him from being able to continue.

Without moving from his side and removing the steady hand that was keeping his own mask in place, Gibbs gave Tony a look which quickly prompted the other man to reply in a husky voice, "Putting on the mask, Boss."

As he settled back into the other bed, oxygen mask securely in place, Tony glanced over at him. They shared a look, a serious conversation occurring without having to even utter a word.

There may have been fire, fire everywhere, but at least there was a friend in sight.

* * *

**_a/n: Thank you so very much for joining me on this little adventure. The support is amazing and it is wonderful to see that so many people have enjoyed reading my story. A special 'thank you' goes to all who left a review – they are always appreciated and very enjoyable to read. Until next time, everyone, happy reading! _**


End file.
